When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.
~ William Shakespeare
As with the tradition of this blog, here’s a poem for the new year. This year, it will be from Neruda. You can find the previous years’ here and here.
I love you, I love you, is my song
and here my silliness begins.
I love you, I love you my lung,
I love you, I love you my wild grapevine,
and if love is like wine:
you are my predilection
from your hands to you r feet:
you are the wineglass of hereafter
and my bottle of destiny.
I love you forwards and backwards,
and I don’t have the tone or timbre
to sing you my song,
my endless song.
On my violin that sings out of tune
my violin declares,
I love you, I love you my double bass,
my sweet woman, dark and clear,
my heart, my teeth,
my light and my spoon,
my salt of the dim week,
my clear windowpane moon.
Translation: William O’Daly
Isn’t that beautiful? Neruda is a genius. For this new year, let’s spread the words of love.
2007. Another new year. It just seemed like yesterday when we counted down to 2006. It just seemed like not too long ago that I blogged this entry. Anyways, Happy New Year to all of you and may your coming year be good, prosperous, healthy and happy. And remember the people you love and the people that loves you. It’s only a phone call away :)
As I did last year, I borrow again from Wislawa Szymborska:
Good and evil-
they knew little of them, but knew all:
when evil triumphs, good goes into hiding;
when good manifest, then evil lies low.
Neither can be conquered
or cast off beyond return.
Hence, if joy, then with a touch of fear;
if despair, then not without some quiet hope.
Life, however long, will always be short.
Too short for anything to be added.
From: Our Ancestor’s Short Lives